


Undercover

by tinamachina



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinamachina/pseuds/tinamachina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth was that Locke knew Edgar was alive long before the whole gang reunited in the Phoenix Cave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undercover

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Final Fantasy VI, Edgar Roni Figaro/Locke Cole, loyalty, treasure, undercover

All over the world, there were all sorts of people who were scavenging what was left of the Vector Empire.  Black-market merchants and underworld gangs were snatching up scraps of Magitek armor, tattered battle flags, guns and uniforms sold by destitute soldiers and all of the spoils from the Empire’s reign of terror.

Locke was only after one piece of grim memorabilia: an oil painting of the Emperor.  He knew that Imperial state-commissioned art often held secret codes, and this particular artwork held a secret to “life free of death”, a treasure Locke obsessed over for years.

Locke spotted it in a wagon parked just outside Albrook, a wagon piled so high with loot that it was in danger of sinking into the rancid mud.  The stern, cold gaze of the decrepit Emperor was unmistakable, and even the sight of it turned Locke’s stomach.  He had hoped that the last time he would ever see Gesthal was his dead corpse being tossed from the Floating Continent.  

But another gang had beaten him to it.  Locke cautiously crept to the wagon and gingerly attempted to release the painting without sending the whole lot crashing upon his head.  Locke barely had time to gently lift the painting from the wagon when he was seized rudely from behind.

“Stealing from us, sunshine?”  One gang member grabbed a fistful of Locke’s hair.

“What ever happened to honor among thieves?”  Another grabbed Locke by the collar, throwing him to the ground.  

Locke was sprawled on his hands and knees, pushing himself back upright, “That’s ‘treasure hunter’, if you know what’s good for you!”  

But a third member of the gang stomped hard on his back, slamming Locke flat into the mud, “Look at this runt trying to correct our grammar!  Let’s teach _him_ something, lads!”  

Locke was surrounded on three sides by gang men, as they viciously kicked him around the head and ribs and legs.  Locke was quickly overwhelmed, throwing his arms up to defend himself, but the gang crushed his wrists into the ground with their boots.  The beating went on for what was probably a few seconds but felt like hours, and then…

“What’s going on here?”  A very familiar voice called out.

“Boss!  This piece of chocobo dung tried to take off with our treasure!”  One of the gang members grunted, grinding his boot against the back of Locke’s head, nearly suffocating him in thick mud.

“Well, let’s have a look-see,” the boss said calmly.  “Get off and pull him to his feet.”

Locke was roughly hauled up under the arms, pinned by the shoulders and neck.  Sputtering out mud and blood from his mouth and sneezing mud from his nose, Locke opened his eyes and looked up.  His aching jaw dropped.

The boss’ glare was ice cold, but Locke knew those eyes.  The boss’ hair was tightly bundled under a kerchief, and there was a decent amount of wayfarer stubble on his chin.  Despite all that, there was no doubt that it was him.

“E…Ed?”  Locke’s lips were swollen and his throat was in a choke-hold.  “Edgar?”

“My associates must have hit your head pretty hard, because you’re clearly mistaken,” the boss said cooly.  “You’ve got some stones stealing from the Gerad Gang.”

“What?  Edgar,” Locke coughed.  “It’s me…it’s…”

But the boss punched him solidly in the stomach, doubling Locke over like a folding ladder.  “Shut your mouth!”

“Boss, want us to take care of him in the sewers?”  One of the gang members made a slicing motion across his neck.

“No, I’ll take care of him,” Gerad grabbed him by the collar.  “Go find a better place to stash our loot before some other idiot tries to swipe from us!”

“But, boss?”  One the gang insisted.  “It’d be our pleasure to…”

“I said I’ll take care of him,” Gerad said with all the cold menace of an angry Shiva.  “I’m better at tidying messes,” Gerad pulled a dagger from his belt and pressed it to Locke’s throat, “Now tie his hands behind his back, and gag him.    _Now!_ ”

The gang obeyed and bound Locke’s wrists so tightly that the rope cut into his skin, then shoved a filthy rag into his mouth.  Gerad then dragged Locke by the back of his jacket, leading him away from the gang into a chocobo stable.  Locke stumbled, barely able to stand up straight, never mind walk.

Looking over his shoulder to watch the gang pull the wagon into the desolate forests outside Albrook, Gerad then tossed Locke roughly onto a pile of hay and slammed the door shut, throwing the wooden bar across the door.

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!  I’m so sorry!”  Gerad pounced on Locke, as the treasure hunter grunted painfully.  “Are you hurt?  I’m sorry, but I can’t blow my cover!”  Gerad flipped Locked over in the hay to untie him and then pulled out his gag.

“Edgar!”  Locke was still spitting out his own blood onto the straw.  Every breath Locke took was a wet gurgle.  “What…the hell?  I had half…my bones broken…by your buddies…back there, and a couple more after that punch!”  

“I’m really sorry!”  Edgar kissed Locke full on the mouth, exuberant and fretful.  He looked so happy that he didn’t seem to mind that the treasure hunter had a mouthful of filth and blood.  “But…you’re alive!  I can’t believe…and you’re a bloody mess!  Hold on, I got some Magicite in my pocket.  I’ll patch you up!”  Edgar pulled out a handful of tiny shards of Magicite from his pocket, “Some more spoils from the Vector Factory, enough to do the job, not as strong as Terra’s magic or Cel…”  Edgar stopped short to see Locke’s pained expression.  “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Locke groaned.  “You’re alive.  That means…she’s probably still alive, and Sabin, and the others…”  Locke coughed violently, blood bubbling from his lips.

Edgar jumped into action, “Oh goddess!  Hang on!”  Edgar tore off his coat and stuffed it behind Locke’s head before laying him flat on his back.  Edgar then opened up Locke’s shirt and examined him. 

Locke’s eyes started to roll into the back of his head.

“Shit!  Stay with me!  Don’t you fuckin’ leave me now!  Cure!”  Edgar pressed a shard to Locke’s chest, and a surge of magic coursed through Locke’s body.  The shard burned up in Edgar’s hand, dissolving.  Still, Locke was unconscious, his pulse weakening.

“Cura!”  Edgar pressed two larger shards over both sides of Locke’s chest, and the magic surged deep into Locke’s ribcage, clearing the pools of blood coagulating in his lungs and mending the fragmented ribs jabbing into them.

Locke’s eyes flew open as he gasped for air.

Edgar sighed with relief.  “I’m so sorry.  Better?”  Edgar rubbed down the sides of Locke’s chest with his hands full of Magicite ash.

“Yeah,” Locke breathed deeply, his chest rising.  “My lungs don’t feel like corn flakes now, thanks.”

Edgar held Locke’s hands together with a shard between his two palms.  The king-in-disguise chanted, “Cure,” and Locke’s broken wrists were healed in a flash.  Edgar ran his fingers through Locke’s hair, curing more wounds around his scalp.  “What happed to your bandana?”

“Dunno,” Locke shrugged, and winced when he felt his collarbone was broken, too.  “I think some bird flew off with it.”

Edgar “cured” Locke’s clavicles, and then he tore the kerchief off of his head, his hair falling unbound.  He gently wiped the mud from Locke’s face, his thumb swiping across his cheekbone, “I still can’t believe you’re alive.”  Tears began welling in his eyes.  “You’re really here.”

“Hey,” Locke tenuously sat up on his newly healed hands.  He held onto Edgar’s shoulders, “I’m too stubborn to die, don’t ya know that already?”

“Me, too, I guess,” Edgar laughed, and then he wrapped his arms around Locke, pulling him in for a kiss.  Locke’s face was filthy and Edgar’s face felt like a cactus and neither one of them cared.

“It’s okay,” Locke kissed Edgar’s cheek as the king broke down in tears, the king shaking in Locke’s arms, “it’s okay.  I’m here.”  Locke ran his hands down Edgar’s back, “I’m here.  I made a vow of loyalty to you.  I don’t break my promises.”

Edgar buried his face into Locke’s neck, breathing deeply.  He fingers carded through Locke’s hair, running down his neck, his hand sweeping across Locke’s waist and up his spine.  “We don’t have a lot of time.  Come, allow me to finish,” he whispered into Locke’s ear in a tone meant to lead someone to bed.  Edgar gently laid Locke back down into the hay, unbuckling Locke’s trousers, pulling them down to below his knees.  He pressed the shards to Locke’s bare thighs and hips, “curing” the bruises and mending the bones.  Edgar’s hands ran down Locke’s flanks, gliding up his hipbones to his waist.  “All better?”

“So much better,” Locke murmured as he took Edgar by the wrists and pulled him down to lie next to him.  The treasure hunter pulled the king close as they kissed again, rolling in hay that smelt of old chocobo urine.

“The stable’s abandoned,” Edgar whispered into Locke’s neck, pulling the rest of Locke’s shirt off of his body.  “We’ve been using it as a temporary hideout.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Locke unfastened the buttons on Edgar’s shirt, “what with those guys?  You’re more likely to lock ‘em up than pal around with them.”

“Petty crooks,” Edgar slipped the shirt off of his own arms, pulling Locke’s bare chest against his.  “Desperate times make more desperate men.”  Edgar held onto Locke tightly, almost crushing his ribs all over again.  “They live in the tunnels.  They know every subterranean cave and grotto in this broken new world.”  Edgar shivered in Locke’s arms, “Their previous boss got killed by a beast more dangerous and hungry than anything in the world before.  It’s like Kefka opened up hell and it’s all spilling out.”

“So you took over?”  Locke tilted his head, drawing Edgar’s mouth to his neck as the treasure hunter soothed the trembling king, rubbing his tanned skin under his hands.

“They tried to jump me,” Edgar scraped his teeth against Locke’s newly healed collarbones, “they didn’t know I was armed.  It was join-me-or-die, not that I’d actually kill them.”  Edgar slid down to nip at Locke’s nipple.  

Locke hummed, running his hands down Edgar’s back, pulling at his hair, “But you’re gonna beat ‘em up for beating the shit out your friend, right?”

“Sorry,” Edgar’s hand slipped down Locke’s stomach, “I’m undercover.  I need them to think that I’m doing terrible things to you right now.”  Edgar’s hand then slid underneath the band of Locke’s underpants, wrapping his hand around his cock.

Locke bucked under Edgar’s hand, thrusting shallowly into it, “What if one of your boys tries to intrude?” 

“Well,” Edgar squeezed a little harder, making Locke gasp, “then it might help if you screamed a little to keep them out.” 

Locke grinned filthily, lifting his hips upwards to allow Edgar to fully strip him.  Edgar then quickly unbuckled himself, smoothly slipping off his pants and underwear in one motion.  Once fully naked, Edgar laid down on top of Locke, grinding into him, kissing him deep.  The stable was not the most comfortable place to make love, since the straw poked into Locke’s backside and there was a draft coming from somewhere and there was probably something crawling around the barn, but neither man cared.  They had done it in stranger places, and they had both been through too much to even believe that tomorrow was guaranteed.  All they had was right now.

It was almost as if they were still convincing themselves that the other man was real and was really there.  They held onto each other tightly, almost terrified to let go, as if they’d slip out of each other’s arms and fly away into the dust.  The throb of Edgar’s dick between Locke’s thighs and the slickness of Edgar’s tongue in his mouth felt almost too good to be real.  There was an urgency to the roll of Edgar’s hips against Locke, a needy whine to Edgar’s heavy breathing.  Locke felt himself throb between their stomachs, moaning softly.

“Locke, please,” Edgar lifted the treasure hunter’s knees to his chest, “you’re going to have to be louder than that to be convincing.”  He poked a finger into Locke’s ass and the treasure hunter sucked in air through his teeth.  “I’m doing terrible, terrible things to you, remember?”  Edgar then lined his cock up to his hole and slowly pushed in.

Locke screamed, and it was a real scream.  Edgar had never taken him raw before.  If any of the Gerad gang came back to check out what their boss was doing to the thief, they would hear something like a man being tortured within an inch of his life.

On the contrary, Locke was not being tortured.  Yes, it hurt like all hell but it was a very real cock inside him and it was Edgar’s.  It was Edgar’s hands gripped tight on his hips.  It was Edgar stretching him open, diving deep inside him.  Locke let it all out, shouting at the top of his newly healed lungs.  He held on tight to Edgar’s waist, pulling him closer, pushing him deeper.  

He stared into Edgar’s face, whose cheeks were red and his brow was dripping in sweat.  He sucked on his bottom lip with each thrust, but his face was intensely serious.  His face was that of a man fucking out of terrible need, out of unimaginable loss.  Edgar’s eyes was a look that begged more than it seduced, almost apologetic as he fucked harder and faster.

Locke pulled Edgar in, chest to sweaty chest, and took his mouth to his own, hungry and reassuring.  Locke then tilted his head back, his cries loud and long.  His cries came from more than Edgar pounding into him.  They came from emotions long bottled inside, grief and pain and longing.  It was all being released, as Locke arched his back, eyes screwed shut as he came hard, spilling onto Edgar’s stomach.

Edgar came much more quietly, spilling himself inside Locke.  He shuddered with a few quick thrusts into Locke’s ass before collapsing, loose and boneless on top of the treasure hunter.  His head rested on Locke’s shoulder as the two men caught their breath, arms wrapped around each other.

“Figaro is stuck underground,” Edgar said abruptly.  “That’s why I’m following those guys around.”

“I’ll come with you,” Locke answered.

“No,” Edgar shook his head.  “The gang will get suspicious.  Besides, you need to find that treasure.  You have another promise to keep.”

Locke’s heart sank, but he understood.  “Right, you’re right.”

Edgar swept Locke’s hair away from his face, “I’ll check out that painting for you.  It’s still in the wagon.  I can see if…”

And a knock on the barn doors made the two men jump.

“Boss!  Boss!”  One of the gang members thumped on the door.  “Guess what?  Some guy gave us a shitload of coin for that old painting of the dead emperor!  We can buy all sorts of loot now!”

Edgar’s face went pale, “Oh Locke.  I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s okay,” Locke patted Edgar on the shoulder.  “I have a pretty good idea of where it’s headed.”  Locke sat back up again, searching for his clothes.  “Besides, you gotta go rescue your people.  Goddess knows how long they’ve been trapped underground.”

Edgar sat on the floor as he slowly pulled his pants back on, looking very despondent.

“Hey,” Locke was dressed in a blink, kneeling next to Edgar.  “It’s still there.  That castle was built to last.”  Locke kissed Edgar on the lips.  “And so is its king.”

Edgar and Locke kissed one more time, arms tight around each other, as if it pained each other to be physically parted.

“I’ll come find you again,” Edgar kissed Locke’s cheekbone.  “And I’m bringing friends.  Our friends.  Let me make that promise to you, for once.”

“Deal!”  Locke pressed his lips to Edgar in a quick peck.  He helped Edgar pull up his pants and buckle his belt, but not without slipping his hand into Edgar’s pocket for a quick, teasing feel.

“Next time we do this,” Locke fastened the buttons on Edgar’s shirt, pulling at the collar a bit, “it’ll be in your bed in Figaro.”  He smiled encouragingly.

“I’d have given you some Magicite shards instead of you diving into my pockets,” Edgar chided him affectionately.  

“Just to let you know I haven’t lost my touch,” Locke whispered hotly into Edgar’s ear, before running to hide behind a hay bale.  Edgar threw his coat back on as he strode through the barn doors, barking with a wrathful authority Locke rarely heard from Figaro’s king.

“DON’T YOU DARE LOOK IN THERE!  AND WHO THE HELL TOLD YOU TO SELL OUR LOOT, YOU BOOKLICKERS!”   Locke heard “Gerad” bark as the gang ran off to parts unknown.  He waited a few moments more before creeping out of the stable and making his long way to Jidoor, with a renewed vigor.


End file.
